Mogget's Mistake
by Sanaryelle
Summary: Ever wonder why the Abhorsen Jerizael forbid Mogget from using his dwarf shape?


_A/N: In the book "Abhorsen" we find out that Mogget's dwarf-shape was forbidden to him by Jerizael, the forty-eighth Abhorsen. I found myself wondering what Mogget did, for Jerizael to prohibit him from being a dwarf. This little story is the result of my contemplations._

_It takes place in the underground grotto mentioned in "Sabriel". You might remember her going down there to ask for help from the Clayr, and calling up the flood. If you need to refresh your memory, check out the beginning of chapter X._

_Disclaimer: I do not own Ancelstierre, the Old Kingdom, or anything within – that all belongs to Garth Nix. Even Jerizael belongs to Garth Nix; all I can claim is her personality._

**Mogget's Mistake**

Crash!

Jerizael straightened up and spun around, brow puckering in anger. She glared furiously at the albino dwarf who stood in the centre of the cave. His green eyes were opened wide in feigned innocence, but the empty stone pedestal beside him and the pieces of jagged ice scattered around his feet trumpeted his guilt.

"Mogget!" Jerizael bellowed, taking a threatening half-step forward. Her hand instinctively flew to her hip, but luckily for them both the Abhorsen's sword was at the moment hanging in the study. Down here, in the frozen grotto deep beneath the cellar, there was nothing that she could possibly use to murder her servant with…except perhaps an icicle…

"It would not hurt me, you know," the dwarf mumbled, his voice deadpan.

"What?" The tall woman blinked, confusion momentarily taking the edge off her searing anger.

Mogget raised a mocking eyebrow. "An icicle," he clarified. "It would not hurt me, if you tried to attack me with it."

Jerizael stared at him, wondering not for the first time whether or not this strange creature could read her mind.

The dwarf answered her unspoken question with an air of smug condescension that put the Abhorsen's teeth on edge: "Your hand went to your hip; when you could not find your sword, you stared at the icicles rather wistfully; and you were never one to admire the interior decorating down here. It doesn't take a genius to know what you were considering, mistress, but it would have been a useless idea anyway. A mere icicle cannot hurt me. Now, if you placed a _spell_ on the icicle –" The tall woman scowled at him, and Mogget wisely shut his mouth.

Jerizael's attention now turned back to the shattered pieces of ice on the cavern floor, and her anger grew exponentially. She was waiting for the dwarf to come up with one of his usual snide comments, waiting for him to goad her into doing something that she might regret later but would really, _really_ enjoy doing right now. Mogget, however, was not about to oblige the Abhorsen with an excuse to throttle her servant, and remained silent. Jerizael finally closed her eyes, clenched her fists, and forced herself to take several deep, calming breaths.

When she opened her eyes again, the usual aggressive sparkle in them had faded. She watched the dwarf rub at his hands, the palms of which looked red and inflamed. "What happened, Mogget?" she asked, only the tiniest hint of a growl in her voice.

The dwarf gazed up at her sulkily. "I just wanted to touch it, Abhorsen," he muttered.

"You know what they say about curiosity and the cat?" snapped Jerizael, hands planted firmly on her hips.

"I am not a cat."

"_Sometimes_ you are." The woman sighed huffily, her breath puffing into a white cloud. Cocking her head to the side, she looked down at what had once been a block of blue-white ice covered in curiously exquisite Charter marks. Now it was smashed into a thousand pieces, the Charter marks dead and unmoving on the frozen surface.

The charmed ice block and pedestal had been given to her as a gift from the Clayr, when she had last visited them in the Paperwing. The two items together would allow her to request defensive floodwaters for her House, without having to send a slow message or perform an exhausting contact spell. Moreover, only people with the power of the Charter in their blood could touch the block of ice and remain unharmed. Jerizael had transported the precious gift back home with utmost care; she and the sendings had spent days building this underground grotto in which to house the rare object, and to keep the ice block from melting.

And now Mogget had broken it.

Because he was curious.

"I did not know that it would burn my hands," the dwarf was explaining crossly, as though he had done nothing wrong. "I did not drop it on purpose – _mistress_."

That last word, laced with a hint of contempt, made Jerizael bristle. "I wish I could cut off your hands," she said sharply, her dark eyes flashing once more. "Do you know how much _trouble _you have caused? Charter take you, Mogget! Now the Clayr will need to come down here to fix it, and to contact them I will need to perform another horribly complicated spell, or send them a message, and who knows how long _that_ would take…"

"You were never a powerful Charter mage," Mogget noted deprecatingly, and the Abhorsen pressed her lips together in a spasm of anger.

"What a tragedy," he continued, sardonic as ever. "So the block is broken! The Clayr will fix it. End of story. Everyone is idiotically happy once more."

Jerizael folded her arms and frowned down at the bearded little man. "If you had lived as long as I have, Abhorsen," he continued in an annoyingly superior tone of voice, "You would not call this trouble." He waved a knobby-fingered hand at the countless pieces of ice strewn at his feet.

"And you would do well to remember, Mogget, that you serve me," the dark-haired woman replied harshly.

The dwarf rolled his green eyes. "How could I forget?" he sneered, hands brushing the red leather belt that held Saraneth.

Jerizael felt a strong urge to grab Mogget by the shoulders and shake him, but she did not. Instead, the tall woman turned and fiercely kicked at the side of the frozen grotto, causing several icicles to come tinkling down. A few of them dropped onto her head and she cursed loudly.

Mogget snickered.

That was it.

"You know, Mogget?" the Abhorsen said loudly, barely managing to keep a rein on her temper. "I do not know why I keep you around. You're nothing but trouble."

To her faint surprise, the albino flinched. "You are not going to lock me up, are you?" he asked despairingly. "Kalliel – the twelfth Abhorsen – did that to me centuries ago. I did not enjoy it very much. No fish, you see –"

"Shut up, Mogget!" barked Jerizael, her voice echoing loudly around the icy blue cavern. She bit her lip and forced herself to speak in a more normal tone of voice: "No, I am not going to lock you up. At least, not yet."

The dwarf gave her a wary look, almond-shaped eyes narrowing to green slits.

"You have to obey my orders, correct?"

"Yeeees…" Mogget answered reluctantly, unsure of what she was about to do to him. He fidgeted with his belt, awaiting her judgement. Jerizael strode forward until she stood right in front of the dwarf, so that he was forced to crane his head to look up at her.

"All right." The tall woman took a deep breath. "Mogget, I hereafter forbid you from using your dwarf-shape in the presence of an Abhorsen, even an apprentice, without prior permission."

The dwarf's mouth dropped open in shock – except that he wasn't a dwarf anymore. His beard was withdrawing up into his chin; his pale hair was spreading all over his face and neck; his body was shrinking rapidly as his back hunched over; his hands were curling up into delicate paws…

Soon a white cat wearing a red collar was standing before her, a flabbergasted expression on his face.

Jerizael gave a very satisfied smile, fighting the sudden urge to laugh, and she turned to leave the grotto. From behind her came a plaintive mew: "Abhorsen – _why_?" Mogget whined.

The tall woman looked over her shoulder at the cat, who was glaring at his tail in disgust. "Because," she smirked, "Your hands were getting you into far too much trouble." With a final wicked grin, Jerizael ducked out of the grotto, beginning the long climb up the narrow, winding stair back to the cellar.

The white cat looked glumly down at his little white paws, and scowled. "Drat!"

_A/N: So, what did you think?_


End file.
